


The Name of the Game

by Lothiriel84



Series: Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) [1]
Category: The Monster Hunters (Podcast)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21684310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: I'm a bashful child, beginning to grow
Relationships: Lord Greg Powers & Roy Steel, Lord Greg Powers/Roy Steel
Series: Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570618
Kudos: 1





	The Name of the Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eruthiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eruthiel/gifts).

He still remembers it as clear as if it was yesterday.

_Accidents will happen, Roy. That’s the life of the big game hunter for you. Lord Powers was a great man and a friend, and the least I can do to honour his memory is to look after his boy as if it were my own, make sure he grows into the kind of man his father would have been proud of. Do you understand?_

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure what to make of Greg at first – _it’s Lord Greg Powers to you, my boy_, Father had repeatedly chided him, but he couldn’t bring himself to use the full title when addressing a boy his own age, and a scrawny one at that. Back then, he was at least a couple of inches taller than Greg, and of a heavier build on top of that; he had naturally assumed he could easily overpower him if he wanted to, but he was soon to find out that not only Greg was nimbler of body and mind, he was also meaner on top of that.

_I’m eleven months older than you are_, Greg had sneered back at him, pinned as he was underneath him after their first ever fight. _Don’t you forget that._

The truth is, more often than not, he wants Greg to be gone, wants his father to stop looking at him like he’s the son he’s always dreamed of, the one Roy will never be; and yet, at the same time, he desperately wants Greg to like him, wants him to be his friend and his sparring partner, the brother he’s never had but sometimes wished for.

Most of the time, Greg’s too busy basking in Reg Steel’s unconditional approval to notice Roy is even there.

_Just look at you. You’ve grown so much, Greg, my boy. You’re going to be the envy of all the girls. No one holds a gun like you do. Your father would be ever so proud. _

Father barely seems to be aware of Roy’s existence these days, yet somehow never misses the chance to remark upon his many perceived failures.

_Greg’s top of his class, Roy. You’re not even trying. I was nine when I shot my first lion, and you can’t even punch one in the face without ending up in hospital. _

He digs his fingernails into his palms and says nothing. The scars on his arm and leg still hurt, sometimes, but he doesn’t mind. He just wishes it would make his father think better of him. (He’s pretty sure it doesn’t.)

Greg can grow a full moustache by the time they’re thirteen. Roy watches him shave with a curious mixture of envy and something he doesn’t quite know how to put a name to, coiled as it sits in the pit of his stomach, red-hot and sizzling. Every morning as he brushes his teeth he stares into the mirror above the sink, wishing the ginger fuzz on his upper lip to grow faster. It doesn’t, and it’s no surprise that Greg sees fit to tease him about it as often – and mercilessly – as possible.

_You’re not a real man until you can grow your own moustache, Roy._

_We’re thirteen_, Roy wants to tell him, yet doesn’t.

He wants to be a real man, like Father is, and the late Lord Powers used to be. He just doesn’t understand why he needs to be one already.

There are lots of things Roy can’t understand, and not for lack of trying.

It’s just the way things are, even if it makes him want to hide under his bed and cry, sometimes.

Girls flock to fifteen-year-old Greg like bears to honey, and Roy’s got used to pretending he doesn’t mind, except that he really, really does. He wishes he could be just like Greg – handsome and charming, with a big black moustache and a jaunty grin to match it.

_What can I say, Roy, my boy? Girls do love a hunter._

Only a few months ago, Father took them both to Africa, and Greg shot his first ever lion.

_That’s impressive, my boy. I’m impressed. Like I always say, you’re nothing until you’ve bagged your first lion. _

Roy’s gazelle went largely unnoticed after that. He knows it’s nowhere near as impressive as a lion, but it’s not his fault Greg got to it first.

(Or perhaps it is, after all. Greg’s better than him at pretty much anything they try, and in Reg Steel’s books, second place is very much the first loser.)

At seventeen, Greg does little but boast about his many conquests. Roy tries to keep up as best as he can, but he doesn’t quite see the point – sure, it can be fun, but it’s not all that Greg makes it out to be, now, is it?

It doesn’t help that he always needs to down half a bottle beforehand, just to steady his nerves. Father doesn’t mind him drinking booze, he says that’s what real men do. (Mother doesn’t seem to approve of how much Father drinks these days, but she knows better than to voice her objections in front of him, especially when he’s had one too many.)

More often than not, Roy’s the first to know when Greg stumbles back into his room after a party, some random girl in tow; and Roy tries burying his head under the pillow to block it all out, he really does, it just never quite works.

(He tells himself Greg couldn’t possibly _know_, but he can always feel his eyes on him the morning after, like those of a lion stalking its prey. _This is all wrong_, he thinks, and wishes for something stronger than coffee to drown his nerves into.)

Father’s gift for Greg’s nineteenth birthday is an all-expenses paid safari in the Serengeti. Greg surprises everyone by asking Roy to accompany him, of all people; Father is delighted, if only because he hopes there’s a chance for Roy to make a name for himself, eventually, if he learns from the best.

Ten years, and he still doesn’t quite know where he stands when it comes to Greg, not even as they’re standing side by side in the majestic solitude of the plains of Africa.

_It’s Lord Greg to you, my boy_, Greg tells him, and passes him another bottle of scotch. They gather around the campfire, the night sky a dizzying expanse above their heads.

_The lion you shot today, that was pretty impressive_, Greg breathes against his neck. He smells of alcohol, sweat, and his favourite cologne, a scent Roy is pretty sure would recognise anywhere.

They’re both drunk, but Greg’s hands are steady and sure, and he welcomes them with some sort of stupefied relief.

(He never, ever thought it could be like this. He thinks that, maybe, he would have been better off not knowing.)

They don’t see each other that often, in the years to follow. Roy reads about Greg’s latest feats of big game hunting in Father’s favourite magazines, and try as he may, he invariably appears to be one, or even several, steps behind.

(It doesn’t help that Father is always keen on singing Greg’s praises, and simultaneously ignores every single one of his own son’s achievements. After all these years, it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.)

He’s twenty-one when he meets Virginia Winchester, and this, at least, is a game he knows how to play.

_You ought to settle down, Roy. You can’t go chasing tail all your life._

It takes Greg two weeks to write back. In his letter, he congratulates Roy on his engagement, and expresses his regrets for not being able to attend the wedding.

It’s better this way, Roy thinks. He closes his eyes, and thinks of Africa, the smell of dirt and grass in his nostrils, and the star-laden sky a gaping wound opening up above them.


End file.
